


Aftermath

by the_song_you_gave_me



Series: Brick in the Wall [6]
Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, BRIGGS Patricia - Works, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 00:12:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15960557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_song_you_gave_me/pseuds/the_song_you_gave_me
Summary: Warren’s out for blood after he feels his Alpha fall. Meanwhile, Charles and Anna both fight to maintain control as Darryl and Mercy each face Bran in their own way.





	Aftermath

Mercy’s breath comes in harsher than she ever expected, tasting of blood and musk and mint. The pain does not stop. It ebbs on the edge of her senses like it had been hers since the day of her birth. She couldn’t remember not being in pain. The animal inside her cries, screaming inconsolably, albeit silently now. She has enough control to keep that cry to herself. She doesn’t have to listen to it. But something about the scents is wrong, her instincts tell her.

What scents? The scent of her mate, of blood, and sorrow and anguish and… death.

“Adam…” his name spills from her lips as the scent of witchcraft smothers her sense of all else for a brief, panicked moment. There was something wrong about that scent. She doesn’t like how it taints the air around her, how the magic clings to the smell of Adam on the air. Then panic sets in for real. She doesn’t like how Adam’s scent smells of death.

There’s more, her instincts try to tell her through the panic. Strange, how it sounded like a separate voice. Her coyote side never felt as though any of it wasn’t already her. This was something… else entirely.

Wolf— That smell of musk and mint fills her lungs as she draws in another rapid breath. Funny, how breathing doesn’t hurt, she thinks. She takes another six quick breaths in. And a smell of comfort touches her nose. It envelopes her, blocking out the blood, the pain, and the death and the magic- though all of those things are still there.

She clings to that smell- sweet and salty and too much like wolf. She opens her eyes to find she’s halfway into pulling herself into Bran’s arms. She doesn’t like it. His eyes were pale gold and she’s not sure she likes this wolf.

But no, that can’t be right. Bran wouldn’t hurt her, she’s sure of it. Who asked those separate instincts for their opinion?

“Mercedes,” Bran’s voice lilts in her ear. His hands wrap around her back, supporting her in a sitting position against him. “I’m glad. You made it.”

Mercy burrows her chin into the muscles over his shoulder, nestling in to his warmth. Her comfort didn’t smell glad, she thinks. She breathes in Bran’s scent and wants to cry. She knows something was wrong.

“Adam.” Mercy says definitively to her Marrok’s shoulder. “What happened to Adam?” She bites the words out slowly, stubbornly against the raging signals coming from her heightened senses, all gone haywire. She digs her fingers in to the Marrok’s skin as Bran slowly strokes her hair, running his hand from the back of her head to just below her neck. Mercy breathes in deeply, becoming increasingly aware that the blood on her skin was the only thing between her and him. Her blood mixed with Adam’s scent and Adam’s blood mixed with that stench of witchcraft, coat her skin.

She nearly gags, taking it all in. The dried blood on Bran’s hands was Adam’s. And on the edge of her senses, she smells that Adam’s scent is stronger nearby… in two places.

Mercy scrunches her eyes in frustration and looks up from Bran’s shoulder.

There are no words.

Bran stops stroking her hair. Mercy trembles under his touch. Confused, she remembers the weight clawing in to her from above. She couldn’t understand, refuses to accept- that hadn’t been her mate. No matter what her nose tells her, and it tells her all that transpired as her eyes remember too. No, it couldn’t be true.

“You killed him!” She screeches as she pushes Bran away. Still on her knees, she looks up at the Marrok standing gravely still severely paces away.

His eyes are pale gold, his body relaxed, unmoving, as he meets her gaze. Salt water clouds her eyes. She falls forward, touching her head to the rotted leaves as an unbidden moan escapes her lungs.

 

<> <> <>

 

Anna’s wolf trots forward into the clearing and nudges Bran’s hand with her head. He scratches her behind the ears, absently.

“Not now,” Bran tells the Omega wolf. If she used her power to drive his wolf away, he wouldn’t have the strength to keep the monster at bay later on. Maybe he wouldn’t want to- now that thought scares him.

Mercy clings to herself, shuddering with a chill that Bran couldn’t soothe. Her stomach may be whole again, the slashes fading from her limbs, but he dealt a wound to her that wouldn’t heal from a successful Change.

Anna bops Bran’s hand out of the way and pads resolutely toward the new wolf. She whines at Mercy’s ear, lying down beside her, touching Mercy’s arm with her nose. Bran stays where he is. There’s no need to protect Mercy from the Omega, he reminds himself, Anna wasn’t a threat.

Off in the distance, Charles ducks down to the forest floor, caught in hesitation between dashing closer to Anna and staying away, his neck offered in wary submission. It’s good his son is cautious, Bran thinks.

“Da,” Charles keeps his yellow eyes pointed to the ground. “Why is Adam…”

Anna growls to her mate from the side. Not helping, she clearly says. Mercy’s breath picks up a faster pace.

Bran turns his eyes to his son and Anna gives another warning growl, this time showing teeth. Bran glances back, cold as ice.

“Please,” Charles puts a little more force behind the word, “What happened here?”

 _Why shouldn’t I kill you?_ The question hovers unspoken between them.

Bran tilts his head back to considering his son. Charles glares at him, holding his gaze for a steady minute. The Marrok waits just long enough for Charles to drop his gaze before giving a solemn nod.

He steps forward away from the girls, then bows his head and runs a hand through his bangs before looking to Charles again.

“Adam lost control.” Bran tells his wolves, “I came upon him injured, and the witches’ curse likely made it worse."

Bran keeps his eyes on his son. Charles stares down at the ground, shoulders tense.

The Marrok continues, "He attacked Mercy, would have killed her.”

Bran could hear the old country in his voice and didn’t like it.


End file.
